He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. You’re like some splendid Princess in Exile in these Dreadful Dingy apartments!” “I’m afraid I’m anything but a Princess when it comes to earning a salary,” said Ann Veronica. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand.
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